Le Cercle des Secrets
by vmariew
Summary: Never eavesdrop on other people's conversations; you might not like what you hear! The Inseparables learn a valuable lesson. This is written for the Fetes des Mousquetaires prompt "There is no friendship that cares about an overheard secret", details of which can be found in the relevant section of the forum under 'Musketeers'.


_**LE CERCLE DES SECRETS**_

There were secrets – the ones that were short-lived and deliberate because those that shared and concealed them were planning something beneficial for the person or persons remaining in blissful ignorance – and then there were the other kind. It must be understood, though, that amongst the _Inseparables,_ those secrets were never malicious, never intended for the detriment of the brother or brothers remaining in the dark and certainly never instigated with the aim of alienating said individual.

But secrets there were!

Each man could argue that his secrets were kept to protect the others from harm, worry or disappointment but they continued to exist nonetheless, despite the varied and repeated reassurances of the others to the contrary.

"A trouble shared is a trouble halved," opined Aramis, happy that he was not telling an untruth. After all, his most recent secret had been shared for many months with Athos, albeit by accident, even though its repercussions could hardly have been described as reduced by the distribution of that knowledge.

"We're brothers and brothers share; whatever it is," was Porthos' simple philosophy; it was a belief that he held dear and endeavoured to practise at all times.

"Of course we would want to help and support," d'Artagnan argued, with an eagerness and innocence of spirit that had not faded with months of war with Spain, forgetting the many times when he had battled problems on his own, wanting to spare his wife and friends any concern.

And Athos' view? He would merely shrug with a non-committal air, conscious that he could not pass judgement as he was the master of secret keeping. For years, from a sense of overwhelming guilt and self-loathing, he had concealed from his brothers his true identity as the Comte de la Fère and that Milady de Winter, the treacherous agent of Cardinal Richelieu, was none other than his wife whom he had believed executed on his orders some years before. Then there was _that_ secret he had kept regarding Aramis' infidelity with the Queen and that the son born to Her Majesty some nine months later was not the true heir to the French throne. It had subsequently led to the involvement of them all, including Treville and Constance, in the biggest secret of all – convincing Louis XIII that Rochefort's allegations regarding the Dauphin's parentage and the Queen's traitorous behaviour with one of his own guards was a lie.

Athos, of all people, must have realised by now that secrets would rarely accompany the keeper to the grave.

In fact, the truth would inevitably come out!

Now, far from Paris, on the borders of Spain from where Athos, the newly promoted Captain of the King's Musketeers, could send out sorties or, on Minister Treville's orders, join ranks with other French regiments to engage fully with the enemy, they camped in what could only be described as a tent city. Months had passed so that even memories of the limited comforts of a garrison existence had metamorphosed into fond flights of fancy of an apparent luxury to which the men longed to return.

TMTMTM

Late one afternoon, Porthos was passing down the side of Athos' tent, larger than all the others as it served both as his sleeping quarters and the command centre of the Musketeers. Voices from within that he immediately recognised as belonging to Athos and Aramis brought a smile to his face and he determined to join them when mention of his name brought him to an abrupt halt. For years, he had struggled with the contradiction that to eavesdrop meant that you probably did not hear any good of yourself whereas in the Court of Miracles, listening in to the conversations of others could be crucial for survival.

So, against his better judgement and glancing around warily to ascertain that no-one was witness to his behaviour, he listened.

"I still don't think that he's forgiven me," Aramis continued, a note of regret in his tone.

"It was a monumental revelation," Athos reminded him.

"One that you made in the end; it should have been me but I was too much the coward."

"Hardly. It was a very difficult situation. It is still early days; give Porthos time."

"It's been over six months and he still hasn't mentioned it. His expression when you told him, d'Artagnan and Treville about the Queen and …" here he hesitated, "my son; the way he pinned me against the wall, I thought he would kill me."

"It probably crossed his mind," Athos agreed wryly, "but then he embraced you. Is that not a sign of forgiveness?"

Aramis evaded the question. "I think he never understood why I joined the abbey at Douai."

"That hit him hard," the young Captain admitted, "but he was delighted when it took little persuasion to have you re-join us to face the Spanish."

"But still I feel his gaze upon me, watching my every move."

"He is relieved to have you back."

"No," Aramis countered. "It is more than that. There is suspicion in his eyes; he no longer trusts me."

Porthos felt his stomach tighten at the words. Was that what Aramis really thought? Was that the impression he was giving?

Athos sighed. "You have to speak with him about how you feel."

"But I may be opening old wounds that have just started to heal."

"And perhaps they will only fester if you remain silent. Be open with him; totally open."

If the two men continued in this vein, Porthos did not remain to hear it; he had walked off, deep in thought, to reflect upon his own reaction to what had transpired all those months ago. The war with Spain had become a time-consuming distraction and he wondered if there really did remain unfinished business between himself and the brother with whom he was undeniably the closest. If Aramis were to approach him, he needed to comprehend his own feelings upon the matter; the air needed to be cleared for good.

TMTMTM

For two days, Aramis gave serious thought to Athos' advice, during which time he convinced himself that Porthos was becoming more aloof – like Athos – and staring at him even more strangely.

He had gone for a walk around the camp perimeter, oblivious to the guards on duty, the men engaged in sword drill and others cleaning weapons yet again for something to do in the lull between military activity. Mulling over Athos' words once more and practising his opening gambit with Porthos in his head, he was returning to the particular area where their tents were when he heard the familiar guffaw of Porthos' laughter and a sadness gripped him. When was the last time Porthos had laughed like that with him? Who or what was it that had so greatly amused him this time?

Moving silently between two tents, he saw a wooden t-stand adorned with pieces of armour hanging from its bar and another breast plate propped against its base. It offered scant concealment but he was behaving recklessly now in true Aramis fashion. Crouching down, he peered between the dented metalwork - testimony to the hard times they had been facing - to see Porthos sitting on a fallen log, back towards him and d'Artagnan at his side. The pair talked with an easy camaraderie that Aramis felt had been missing for a long while between himself and the big man.

"Are you going to say anything to Aramis?" d'Artagnan was asking.

Aramis pricked up his ears at that. Athos had advised him to speak first but it seemed that his two other brothers had different ideas. He tried to inch closer, his action knocking over a gauntlet that had been balanced precariously against the breast plate. They clattered as they fell, the sound made worse by Aramis' desperate attempt to catch them but instead he shouldered the cuirass on the stand which tilted dangerously. He grabbed at it, wincing visibly as the resultant noise was enough to wake the dead!

D'Artagnan glanced surreptitiously behind him, sighting the very visible marksman but pretending not to notice him. He smothered a grin as Porthos looked skyward.

"Must have been some sort of bird," Porthos stated, his face expressionless as he suggested a reason for the commotion.

With a slight inclination of his head, d'Artagnan signalled to his companion the whereabouts of the poorly hidden musketeer.

Briefly nodding in understanding, Porthos continued. "No, I'm not going to say anything to him at all. Now is not the time. It will be for us to know and if he thinks it's been forgotten, well I'm not about to put him straight."

Horrified, Aramis backed away until a line of tents separated him from his supposed erstwhile friends. Porthos was evidently not ready to broach or even discuss the subject with him. Aramis had not realised the depth of bad feeling he had unleashed in his dear friend and he wondered how he could ever rectify the situation. Would their friendship ever regain the sure footing on which it once stood?

"Has he gone?" Porthos asked, not sitting in a viable position to easily turn to see what Aramis was doing.

"Oh yes," d'Artagnan laughed, as he watched the retreating musketeer and totally unaware of the man's fraught mood.

"Do you think he heard what we were talking about?" Porthos frowned worriedly.

"I doubt it. He wasn't there long enough before he had the altercation with the armour."

"Good, now we can properly organise his birthday celebration. We can't do much given the war but we need to mark it somehow. Ol' Serge has pulled a few strings to get enough meat for the four of us and he has promised he'll cook us a special meal that'll be served in Athos' tent. All we have to do is think of a reason to get him there."

"That should be simple enough," d'Artagnan pointed out. "Being Captain, Athos can easily send for him on some pretext."

Porthos clapped him on the shoulder, appreciative of the suggestion and then grew serious once more. "I'd like to give him a gift of some sort but being stuck out here is making that difficult." He refrained from adding that he hoped a gift might be a symbolic gesture to Aramis that he did not harbour any ill-feeling towards his friend.

"Never mind, we still have several days to come up with something," d'Artagnan assured him.

TMTMTM

Athos had been confined within the oppressive heat of his tent for the entire morning pouring over maps, reading and re-reading missives from Minister Treville, checking their dwindling supplies and worrying about when much needed ammunition stocks would arrive.

Stepping out from one almost airless environment to another, he shrugged into his heavy leather doublet and felt the sweat immediately start to trickle down his back. Foregoing the formality of buttoning it up, he set off to find d'Artagnan, resolved to ask him to deliver a message to the officer in a neighbouring camp.

About to emerge from between two tents, he saw him sitting at a makeshift table, deep in conversation with Aramis, the expressions on both their faces telling him that the subject matter was of a serious and potentially personal nature. He knew how the young man was missing Constance terribly, the lines of communication haphazard except for military orders so letters to and from Paris were few and far between. There had been only days between their marriage and the regiment's hasty departure for the Spanish border and Athos wished that he could do something more constructive for the newly- weds. In fact, Constance was such a feisty individual that he would not have been surprised if she suddenly put in an appearance one day, having made the journey from Paris to join her husband, as some of the soldiers' wives tended to do.

Loathe to interrupt their intense discussion, as they were obviously unaware of his closeness, Athos hesitated and, in that moment, their words drifted towards him. They were not speaking of d'Artagnan and Constance as he supposed but of himself and Anne, his wife. Pained by the sudden reminder, he retreated around the side of the nearest tent, not intending to listen to their views on the subject but unable to help himself nonetheless.

"Why didn't you or Porthos tell me this before?" Aramis demanded. He was referring to the fact that Athos had ridden to meet Anne at the crossroads outside Paris before she departed for England. It was even harder to assimilate the news that she had wanted to Athos to leave with her.

Athos suppressed a gasp. He was unaware that d'Artagnan had known about that failed, frantic journey to see her for it was Porthos who had witnessed his dramatic return, the slow walk in through the garrison gate leading his horse. It was Porthos who had seen the marked change in him and had persisted in trying to get him to talk about what had transpired but he had withdrawn, literally and metaphorically, throwing himself into the war preparations and avoiding Porthos' well-meaning questions, partly because he could not articulate how he felt nor explain the emotional numbness that seeped from his very core. It was Porthos who, refusing to give up, had followed him on his rounds of the guards one night when they had set up camp en route to the Spanish border. It had taken a small bottle of a poor wine to aid the process and, reluctant at first, he had eventually conceded and told Porthos what had happened that day.

"There was so much going on at the time," d'Artagnan explained. "Constance and I had just married; the garrison was preparing to depart from Paris; Athos was trying to get used to the demands of his new role; we rode to get to you at Douai and then we started south. I was worried about Athos; he seemed under a lot of strain and distant and I happened to mention it to Porthos. He was evasive at first but then he told me about the conversation they had had."

Listening to d'Artagnan's well-meaning disclosure, Athos realised that he did not know whether to be angry at Porthos for the perceived betrayal of a confidence or relieved that Aramis and d'Artagnan now knew and he did not have to tell them.

"It never seemed the right time and didn't come up until you mentioned Milady just now," d'Artagnan continued.

"I had been thinking about those last months in Paris, of Rochefort and …" Aramis' voice trailed off as his mind conjured images of the beautiful woman and the precious child who were both beyond his reach. Peering round the tent flap, Athos saw d'Artagnan lay a comforting, understanding hand upon the other man's arm and he felt a physical pain for his friend's ongoing suffering and his own deep-seated regrets.

Aramis spoke again. "I was wondering what had happened to Milady. She had been so evident in those final weeks, I thought I had seen a softening between her and Athos but I haven't heard him make mention of her since we left Paris."

"I agree with you. Had she remained in France and we had not left for war, who knows what might have happened," d'Artagnan agreed.

"Well something certainly happened for her to ask him to accompany her to England; something must have given her hope."

From his vantage point, Athos closed his eyes, fighting to control his emotions at the memory and thankful that he had not revealed to Porthos the other events of the night when he saved Anne from Catherine's vengeance; her continued insistence that his brother Thomas had tried to force himself upon her six years beforehand and later, when they were concealed in Rochefort's chambers, they had been overwhelmed with relief at not being discovered. The subsequent kisses, charged with passion and hot desire, were reminiscent of the early months of their short-lived marriage, the sudden realisation leaving them breathless, awkward and embarrassed. Perhaps it had been part of her reason for wanting him to start afresh with her in a different country.

There was a lull in the conversation until Aramis broke the silence with a voice mellow with sadness. "Do you think he would have gone with her if Treville had not made him captain? That he could have left us?"

There was another pause as d'Artagnan considered his answer. "I truly don't know and I wonder if, to this day, he knows himself. Had he gone to meet her, abandoning his promotion and forsaking France when he was needed? I'd like to think not but were we really enough to keep him? I was newly married and, I confess, my thoughts were elsewhere; you had left us for Douai and Porthos tried to support him but our relationship, our group had changed, seemingly for ever. Why should he have stayed? More than anything I want him to be happy, to know the kind of love that Constance and I have but would he find that with her after all that has passed between them? Perhaps he had gone to tell her that it was not the time, he couldn't go or that they could never bring each other happiness. I do believe he still loves her. Does he wonder if he made the right decision?"

Aramis gave an exasperated sigh. "Even now, and from a distance, she has the ability to destroy him, to tear him apart. How did one person ever manage to have such power over another? I would give anything to protect him and to ease his pain."

Athos could not stay to hear any more. Shaken, he stumbled back in the direction of his tent, completely forgetting why he was seeking d'Artagnan in the first place but, searching his mind and heart, he realised with anguish the undeniable truth that he could not answer the questions his brothers had just raised.

TMTMTM

D'Artagnan had bathed in the river, washing himself clean of the dust and sweat that had accrued over the past couple of days of mind-numbing duty. The enemy had maintained a low profile and scouts returning to the French camp had nothing to report to Athos except that Spanish movement was sluggish as they awaited fresh food and ammunition from supply lines that had been seriously disrupted by Musketeer attacks.

He would have given anything to have been with the men that rode out but in recent days, for some reason, Athos had deemed his services more crucial on duty around their own camp and the incessant training of the raw recruits who had headed south with them. They had not had the opportunity to be fully tested but with the news from Treville that reinforcements were heading north to join the Spanish forces, they were likely to see action before very much longer.

So it was that d'Artagnan had had to listen to stories of derring-do from Porthos and Aramis on their return. His frustration at not being involved was mounting and he resolved to meet Athos sooner rather than later to request, in the first instance, that he be permitted to go with the next raiding party.

Having let his body dry in the sunlight, he had donned his clothes and was sighing at the state of his boots when he heard voices that he knew well in conversation on the other side of the bushes that separated the river bank from the dirt track that led from the camp to a crossing point further down river. Having recognised them, he decided to join them once he had finished his new task. He was not really listening to their conversation, so engrossed was he in the job of scraping the mud off his boots. However, when he heard mention of his wife's name , he stopped abruptly, knife poised over an encrusted heel and his head snapped up, eyes fixed upon the bushes behind which his brothers had seated themselves, oblivious to his presence.

"What possessed you to make such a promise to Constance?" Porthos demanded.

"What else could I do? They had not been married a week when we left Paris. She was finding it hard enough to be strong as he made preparations for departure. I was trying to offer her some form of encouragement and reassurance," Athos groaned.

D'Artagnan set his boot and knife down very quietly and edged towards the foliage in his bare feet. Why would Athos be making a promise to _his_ wife and what form did that promise take? Not even a fleeting suspicion of mistrust entered d'Artagnan's mind but he was curious nonetheless.

"We're at war; he's a soldier. You can't reassure any of their families," Porthos persisted.

"Don't you think I know that?" came Athos' angry retort. "I am aware of that fact every waking moment of each and every day and, believe me, there are plenty of them because I'm certainly not sleeping much these days. I am also profoundly aware that every decision I make, every order I have to follow and pass on to the regiment puts all your lives at risk. You don't have to remind me that it comes with the responsibility of being Captain but that does not make it any easier."

"You still should never have made her a promise that you know you couldn't guarantee keeping," Porthos pushed.

"Constance is an intelligent woman; she'll know they were words said at a stressful time. She wouldn't hold me to it." There was an element of wistful hope in his voice. "Would she?"

It was met by an exasperated sigh from Porthos. "How can you be so naïve? Of course she'd hold you to it – up to a point. You said yourself they were newly married. This is the man she loves with every fibre of her being and she's trusted him to your keeping as his commanding officer and," here he paused for dramatic effect, "as his best friend. You cannot protect him and keep him from harm. He has as much chance as the rest of us of making it out of this mess alive and if you try to do anything different, he will know it and he will resent you; that's if you're not accused of favouritism by the other men first! You can't afford to turn them against you."

N ow Athos let out a long, low groan. "I cannot do right for doing wrong. I meant well when I spoke to Constance."

P orthos' voice softened, "I know you did but there is no way you can keep him or any of us safe. We all knew the risks when we joined the regiment; we trust you to make the best decisions given the circumstances and you know by now that we would all follow you to the ends of the earth, d'Artagnan included, but you cannot expect to protect us – not even him - and we all understand that. No-one will hold it against you."

"Do you think that is what I have been doing? Protecting d'Artagnan?" There was misery in Athos' voice as he realised how things might have been perceived.

"Seriously? Yes, even if you did not realise that you were doing it but Aramis and I have both noticed the kind of duties you have assigned to him, ever since he came back from that reconnaissance with a bullet graze to his skull last week."

So that was what lay behind the recent duties and training exercises! D'Artagnan should have felt anger but instead there was only sorrow for the weight of responsibility that he knew Athos had to bear. Somehow he had to find a way to broach the subject, to ease some of the man's torment and reassure him. He was also going to write to Constance about the promise and gently point out that it was unrealistic; he just hoped that she would understand but Athos should not jeopardise his capabilities as captain of the King's Musketeers on account of a promise he felt pressurised to make.

"I've been a fool," Athos said quietly as he reflected upon his leadership.

"I wouldn't describe you as that," Porthos countered. "It seems to me that you're carin' a little too much. We love you for it, brother, but you've got to get it sorted in your head, otherwise you're the one who's goin' to end up hurtin' a lot."

TMTMTM

The birthday dinner had been a huge success and the four men sat back in their chairs having eaten their fill and laughing at a shared joke. They had not had the opportunity to be like this for too long and each moment was one to be savoured. They had just toasted Aramis and teased him about being another year older but not a year wiser when a comfortable lull in the conversation ensued. As the others sipped at their wine, Porthos cleared his throat and prepared to make a speech.

"We all wanted to bring you gifts but being stuck here made that impossible," he began.

"I wouldn't say that," Aramis said. "Athos arranged the dinner, you supplied the wine and d'Artagnan organised the little sugar treats. I'd say the dinner was a gift in itself," and he raised his cup in a silent salute to his friends at the table.

"I know," Porthos went on, suddenly serious. The others recognised the change in his mood and became equally sombre. "But I'd say that this dinner has made me realise the most important things in life and that starts with friendship. We're at war; we've already lost comrades but we're all still here, together."

"I pray to God that continues," Aramis muttered.

"So do I," Porthos agreed, "but we may be livin' on borrowed time. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? We have to live for today and we have to be open and honest with each other, no leavin' puttin' anything right between us until another day because that day might not come."

"That's very true," d'Artagnan agreed. The mood around the table had changed dramatically.

"So I want to start by puttin' something right, Aramis."

All eyes turned to the guest of honour who looked momentarily bewildered.

Porthos continued, "I confess that I overheard you an' Athos talkin' one day. I didn't mean to; it just happened but it made me realise that I'd possibly been givin' you the wrong idea about all this trouble with Rochefort, the Queen and the like."

Aramis shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wondering what was to follow.

"You're my brother, my close friend. We're a team but we're only human and we all make mistakes." Here he allowed himself the slightest of smiles, "Mind you, you make some pretty big ones." Gentle laughter broke the tension in the tent. "But when all's said an' done, we stick together, we forgive each other, learn from it, back each other up and move on. If I've somehow given you the impression that I don't forgive you, then that's my fault. My gift to you, here an' now with the others as my witness, is my total forgiveness, my trust, love and my friendship."

There was a pause and then Aramis, eyes glistening, got to his feet and moved round to the big man who rose to meet him. No further words were needed as they embraced and the other two banged their hands on the table edge in noisy appreciation.

"That is the most precious gift I could ever receive," Aramis said softly as he resumed his seat, "but I, too, have a confession to make. I overheard you and d'Artagnan one day and you said that you didn't want to talk to me about it; I feared that I had damaged our friendship beyond repair. Thank you for putting me straight."

D'Artagnan snorted with suppressed laughter. "That'll teach you to listen in on other people's conversations. We were discussing this birthday dinner when you happened upon us and we knew you were there all the time. How could we miss you? You were making enough noise!"

The three men involved laughed heartily until they saw that Athos had not joined them. Instead, he stared into the ruby depths of the wine in his cup and they fell silent again, sensing that he was about to speak.

"I also have to admit to hearing things that passed between Aramis and d'Artagnan." He looked up and met their steady gazes with his own. "I overheard you talking about Anne and when she left for England. I had confided in Porthos but I find myself thankful that he shared it with you both. I wish I knew what I would have done had she still been there at the meeting place. I wrestled it with it throughout the ride and I was no closer to reaching a decision when I got there."

He looked at d'Artagnan as he continued, "I heard you wondering if you and Porthos were enough to keep me here, with Aramis already having departed. Never doubt yourselves again or the bond that we have between us, my friends," and he looked at each other in turn. "I know I still find it hard to be open with you on certain matters and, even now, I confess that I am holding back on what really transpired between Anne and me during those final days. Do I still love her? It is surprising how many people assume that I must; perhaps I do, given that she remains so much in my thoughts and has played such a major part in my life. Is it a healthy love though?" He shrugged. "I doubt it. You were right, Aramis, when you said that she still has the power to destroy me and I do not think that will ever completely disappear but as to your thoughts about wanting to protect me, you and the others do that between you every single day by just being with me."

It was the longest, most emotive speech Athos had given for a long time and the silence that resulted was testimony of their surprise and gratitude that this reserved man had revealed so much. Aramis reached across to where Athos sat on his right and slid an arm round his shoulders.

D'Artagnan broke the quiet and reflective moment. He looked straight at Athos. "Talking of being protective ... I, too, am guilty of listening in where I shouldn't and I heard the exchange between you and Porthos."

Athos' eyes widened as he remembered the topic; a slight flush coloured his features.

"You should not have made such a promise to Constance and she should not have pressed you for it. I am a fully trained and committed musketeer and must be exposed to exactly the same dangers as all the other men, including Porthos and Aramis here. There are others who are married and have families. All of us want to live to see the end of the war but we do know the inherent risks; I certainly do." A smile lightened his face, "So there is to be no more keeping me in camp, whether you do it deliberately or not. Do you understand me, Athos, or do I have to make you give another promise in front of these two?"

Athos had the grace to look uncomfortable. "I am sorry for that, d'Artagnan. I genuinely did not realise that I was doing it until Porthos pointed it out so eloquently. I can only add, in my defence, that I wanted to ensure that you were fully recovered from your crease to the head."

D'Artagnan nodded his acceptance.

"Seems like we're all a bit guilty of listenin' in where we shouldn't have," Porthos declared.

"I've always said we would hear badly of ourselves if we engaged in such activity," Aramis reminded them.

"We're guilty of gossiping behind each other's backs, you mean," d'Artagnan corrected.

"That's harsh," Aramis countered. "Aren't we allowed to share our concerns about each other?"

Athos refilled his cup. "I think we're in danger of missing the point here."

"And that is?" d'Artagnan frowned.

"We shouldn't be afraid to speak our minds to each other, to be … more open than we are – and I need to follow that as well. No more secrets. They can be destructive and we have something too precious to be damaged by those; friendship and brotherhood, gentlemen. Let us never forget that."

" I'll drink to that," Porthos agreed and the tent filled with the sound of pewter cups clinking together as an accompaniment to a cherished toast uttered by four strong voices.

"Friendship and brotherhood!"


End file.
